This is a short story that I wrote for ELA class. It's a little short and abruptly ends and it's not exactly stellar but, in light of recent events, I decided I'd share it as things of that nature had helped in the past.
The hazy, wet floor of the shower was the first thing that came into Eds view. With a couple of blinks and a shake of the head, Ed was able to fully come to. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Ed, but with disbelief Ed noticed that the floor wasnt covered in water as he assumed but was covered in blood. Ed hoped to his feet quickly, startled, then doubled over in pain as he felt the massive headache that he had developed. Ed stood up slowly this time, not to escape the pain so much as suppress it as much as possible. Ed slowly placed one foot out of the shower and followed suite with the other. Ed found himself in a dark, gloomy, and blood covered bathroom with a massive headache and no explanation as to why he woke up in a pool of blood. He shambled to the mirror in a zombie-like fashion. Ed looked himself in the eyes. His bloodshot eyes, complete with extremely dilated pupils. Ed then checked his body for any wounds, which would explain the blood. Much to his displeasure, he found none. This raised a few questions, one of which being Whose blood is that? which Ed muttered to himself. The other being Why did I wake up in it? The thought sent chills down Eds spine as he verbalized it. Ed figured that facing whatever horrors lay outside was a better idea than sitting here indulging in his anguish. Ed slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open even slower. Ed was an ex-cop who worked the beat in The Bronx. He had seen things that would cause an ordinary man to crumble with agony. Ed was no ordinary man, but even he didnt have the fortitude to face what was on the other side of that door. With a glance around the room Ed felt a tormenting dejection wash over him. Eds parents lay propped up against the bed holding Eds little brother in both their arms. Dead. Ed fell to his knees and began to weep. Ed wept and fell into a laying position. He remained like this for several hours then began to beat the floor with his fist. He felt an unmatched anger flood into his body. He walked over to the grotesque scene, got down on one knee, and said a silent vow to avenge his family. He looked up and found a knife planted in his little brothers chest. The knife caused him extreme despair, but at the same time it enraptured him as it was his only lead. He had seen this knife before. Even worse, he could almost remember it being used to kill his family. He was crushed with desolation at the image in his mind, surely he hadnt actually seen them die. He would have done something to prevent the scene that rest in front of him. He gently pulled the knife out with the utmost respect for his brother and examined it in the light. The blade glinted resplendently as Ed turned it looking for any indication as to whose it was. Then Ed realized. It was his. Eds fury had come back full force with that thought. Somebody had broken in and murdered his family with Eds knife! Ed no longer just wanted simple justice, but rather he had a personal vendetta against the psycho who had created this loathsome reality for Ed. Ed rushed to his personal desk, stashed the knife in a drawer quickly for further examination later, and picked up his phone to call an old colleague who could help him in finding the monster and giving him what he deserved. Ed then paused and slowly put his phone down. This was a lonesome road that he had to walk on his own. Ed layed on his bed and pondered his current situation. He had to do this alone. He owed it to his family. Its what they would have wanted. He felt himself slowly growing more and more tired. He then forced himself awake and sat up. I cant sleep just yet. I need to figure something else out first. It seemed like a fair enough stipulate to keep, especially given the gravity of Eds current situation. Ed glanced once more into the living room. It was usually an exorbitant looking room, but it lost that characteristic covered in blood. Ed stared at the bodies, and made another silent vow to kill whoever did the same to them. Ed threw open the drawer that contained the knife and pulled it out, but before slamming the drawer closed like he wouldve he stopped. Something inside the drawer caught his eye. A blue, plastic package. Ed had fuzzy memories of the package from the night before. Ed picked up the package curiously and began to examine it. He opened the package and smelled its contents. Bath salts Ed muttered quietly. Bath salts.. He muttered again. Ed dropped the salts to the ground in agony. Ed realized why he had remembered the package. And the knife. And the murders. And why he had woken up in a pool of his familys blood. He had stabbed them. They had taken the bath salts and, in a drug induced rage, attacked him. They left him no choice. He fell to the ground once more and stared at the drugs. He then stood up and started to kick them all over the floor with screams of pain. He then sat down on the edge of his bed, the knife in his hands. Justice was what he was after, and in the in the end that was all that mattered to him. He couldve called the police to turn himself in, but he stopped himself. This was a lonesome road that he had to walk on his own.
The hazy, wet floor of the shower was the first thing that came into Eds view. With a couple of blinks and a shake of the head, Ed was able to fully come to. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Ed, but with disbelief Ed noticed that the floor wasnt covered in water as he assumed but was covered in blood. Ed hoped to his feet quickly, startled, then doubled over in pain as he felt the massive headache that he had developed. Ed stood up slowly this time, not to escape the pain so much as suppress it as much as possible. Ed slowly placed one foot out of the shower and followed suite with the other. Ed found himself in a dark, gloomy, and blood covered bathroom with a massive headache and no explanation as to why he woke up in a pool of blood. He shambled to the mirror in a zombie-like fashion. Ed looked himself in the eyes. His bloodshot eyes, complete with extremely dilated pupils. Ed then checked his body for any wounds, which would explain the blood. Much to his displeasure, he found none. This raised a few questions, one of which being Whose blood is that? which Ed muttered to himself. The other being Why did I wake up in it? The thought sent chills down Eds spine as he verbalized it. Ed figured that facing whatever horrors lay outside was a better idea than sitting here indulging in his anguish. Ed slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open even slower. Ed was an ex-cop who worked the beat in The Bronx. He had seen things that would cause an ordinary man to crumble with agony. Ed was no ordinary man, but even he didnt have the fortitude to face what was on the other side of that door. With a glance around the room Ed felt a tormenting dejection wash over him. Eds parents lay propped up against the bed holding Eds little brother in both their arms. Dead. Ed fell to his knees and began to weep. Ed wept and fell into a laying position. He remained like this for several hours then began to beat the floor with his fist. He felt an unmatched anger flood into his body. He walked over to the grotesque scene, got down on one knee, and said a silent vow to avenge his family. He looked up and found a knife planted in his little brothers chest. The knife caused him extreme despair, but at the same time it enraptured him as it was his only lead. He had seen this knife before. Even worse, he could almost remember it being used to kill his family. He was crushed with desolation at the image in his mind, surely he hadnt actually seen them die. He would have done something to prevent the scene that rest in front of him. He gently pulled the knife out with the utmost respect for his brother and examined it in the light. The blade glinted resplendently as Ed turned it looking for any indication as to whose it was. Then Ed realized. It was his. Eds fury had come back full force with that thought. Somebody had broken in and murdered his family with Eds knife! Ed no longer just wanted simple justice, but rather he had a personal vendetta against the psycho who had created this loathsome reality for Ed. Ed rushed to his personal desk, stashed the knife in a drawer quickly for further examination later, and picked up his phone to call an old colleague who could help him in finding the monster and giving him what he deserved. Ed then paused and slowly put his phone down. This was a lonesome road that he had to walk on his own. Ed layed on his bed and pondered his current situation. He had to do this alone. He owed it to his family. Its what they would have wanted. He felt himself slowly growing more and more tired. He then forced himself awake and sat up. I cant sleep just yet. I need to figure something else out first. It seemed like a fair enough stipulate to keep, especially given the gravity of Eds current situation. Ed glanced once more into the living room. It was usually an exorbitant looking room, but it lost that characteristic covered in blood. Ed stared at the bodies, and made another silent vow to kill whoever did the same to them. Ed threw open the drawer that contained the knife and pulled it out, but before slamming the drawer closed like he wouldve he stopped. Something inside the drawer caught his eye. A blue, plastic package. Ed had fuzzy memories of the package from the night before. Ed picked up the package curiously and began to examine it. He opened the package and smelled its contents. Bath salts Ed muttered quietly. Bath salts.. He muttered again. Ed dropped the salts to the ground in agony. Ed realized why he had remembered the package. And the knife. And the murders. And why he had woken up in a pool of his familys blood. He had stabbed them. They had taken the bath salts and, in a drug induced rage, attacked him. They left him no choice. He fell to the ground once more and stared at the drugs. He then stood up and started to kick them all over the floor with screams of pain. He then sat down on the edge of his bed, the knife in his hands. Justice was what he was after, and in the in the end that was all that mattered to him. He couldve called the police to turn himself in, but he stopped himself. This was a lonesome road that he had to walk on his own.